


Heads or Tails

by autopsies



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 19:59:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12801240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autopsies/pseuds/autopsies
Summary: Life on Berk has always been a little dull for Brynhildr's taste, so when she is tasked with infiltrating the ranks of the Dragon Hunters, she readily jumps at the opportunity. But espionage is rarely easy, and the situation rapidly spirals out of control. Caught between her loyalties, and her dreams of power and excitement, Brynhildr has to come face to face with parts of herself and others she'd rather leave in the dark.





	Heads or Tails

        Gentle waves lapped against the side of the small, weathered boat, bobbing it to and fro. The planks creaked with each subtle motion, reminding the woman tying it to the rickety wooden dock post that the vessel beneath her feet wasn't crafted to withstand the lengthy journey from Dragon's Edge to the Northern Markets. But it fared well, and looked no worse for the wear than when she'd set out. Sure, if the situation allowed for it she'd have gone with just about any other method of getting there, but she didn't have much of a choice. Her only other options were to take her dragon, which was notably less than subtle and a surefire way to let everyone know  _exactly_  who she was there on behalf of;  _or,_  she could have been dropped off by the dragon riders, which would have accomplished all the same things with the added fun of a mace to the back of her skull.

        Brynhildr was working with what she had.

        She gave the rope a firm tug, reassuring herself for the third time that the boat was docked and secure. Not that it mattered much, she mused. If this went according to plan she wouldn't have to return to it, and it could spend another few days there before resigning itself to the depths of the sea where it was likely going to end up anyway. But a contingency plan was never a bad idea, though a little optimistic, given that failure would result in, yet again, a mace to the back of the head. Or, maybe even the front. It's not like they'd be too keen on giving her a chance to turn and run.

        She shoved the thoughts to the recesses of her mind – now wasn't the time to focus on everything that could go wrong. That's what the entire trip over was spent doing. Besides, any outcome no matter how grisly would have to be better than returning to her monotonous life on Berk.

        With wavering footing, she stepped off the boat, and adjusted her burgundy cowl. She held her position for a moment, eyes scanning the surrounding area. The pier was bustling with merchants, some with ships flying familiar flags, others with crests displayed for clans she'd never seen.

        She turned her gaze downward, back to the splintering salt worn boards beneath her feet, and began the trek into the heart of the market. She weaved her way past brawny warriors carrying crates of finely crafted weapons, and sailors smuggling chests concealed by dark rags and conspicuous sidesteps. There was a strange sort of excitement that filled the air – a thrill Brynhildr could feel coursing through her veins, kept alive by the mysteries veiled around every corner, and the ever present taboo of setting foot in that infamous cesspool.

        In the corners of her eyes she occasionally caught a suspicious glance cast her way, but nobody said a word. Se was minding her own business, and they'd mind theirs. It was a tip Johann had cast her way when she had hunted him down not far off of the coast of Dragon's Edge the night she left. And it was perhaps the most obvious thing he could have said – that acting natural and keeping to yourself would keep you safe – but replaying it back in her head offered the dark haired girl some makeshift comfort as she stepped off the docks, and onto a pathway.

        She never realized how nice it felt to be standing on solid ground.

        Looking out over the market itself, it was almost exactly what she'd imagined. Tents, kiosks, and wooden booths lined up as far as they eye could see, each housing a merchant aggressively peddling his wares to anyone he could catch the attention of.

        She reached into her pocket and pulled out a neatly folded piece of parchment. On it was a poorly drawn map, with uneven squares representing each merchant's stand and an unsteady line weaving through them, stopping in the northwestern corner and punctuated with a crude “X”. Johann may have known what he was talking about, but the man's artistic talents left a lot to be desired. She folded it back up along each predetermined crease, slipped it back into her pocket, and resumed walking with renewed vigor.

        She didn't stop for anything – paying little mind to the vendors beckoning her to stop and examine their wares, and dodging the other patrons meandering towards whatever their destinations were, if any at all. Well aware she'd look out of place moving with such purpose, she tried her hardest to maintain a casual stroll.

        Being a twenty-four year old woman there on her own was already odd enough, and bound to draw unwanted attention. It was best not to add to that, and fortunately for her, appearing absolutely unsuspecting and ordinary was a talent of hers. As was acting in general. It was a skill that did her little to no good on Berk, but was enough to land her the job of spying on Viggo Grimborn.

        With Heather being potentially compromised, she suggested the Dragon Riders find a backup plan, should something else go wrong. And somehow they came to the conclusion that Brynhildr was the right person for the job. Perhaps that's because they had vague memories of the stories of her lying to get out of training to fight dragons, time and time again, years ago when that was a thing. Or, it had something to do with all those times that visitors would show up to Berk, and under the assumption she'd never see any of them again, Brynhildr would make up a new life story to share with each and every one of them. Or maybe it was as simple as “the Hunters didn't know her”.

        No matter what the case, there was likely a good reason they game to her. She was a skilled actress who was perpetually bored with life on Berk, and seemed devoid of that “violence is a reliable solution” instinct that many other vikings had. Because why exert the energy to hurt your problems when you can avoid them all together, or simply let it destroy itself?

        Now, she just hoped she could prove their faith to be well placed.

        She had entered the last stretch of her walk, and the booth she was looking for had come into sight. Or, as much as it could. Anything housed beneath the linen tent was obscured by a tightly packed crowd of people, all seeming to be listening intently to the salesman, only looking away to nod at each other in agreement. Perhaps it wasn't going to be the most convenient situation for an approach, but if she could get herself seamlessly into the crowd, then attention would be off of her, and she could get a better feel for the man she was supposed to be introducing herself to.

        She stepped off the pathway and approached the group, just to find herself faced with a dilemma. In theory, she could slip right in unnoticed, size up the stranger selling the goods, then talk to him when the group dispersed in the most fitting way she could think of. But the crowd gave little room to sneak through them, and Brynhildr wasn't a very tall woman. She stood about 5' 3” when she worked to maintain perfect posture. And the others there? Mostly men, but even the women stood about 6' or more. The shortest of them being a rather stoned faced woman who still had about half a foot on the poor viking.

        Brynhildr, admittedly, hadn't accounted for this possibility. Getting threatened? Sure, she thought through how to handle that. Stabbed? She had a contingency plan. And she was prepped and ready to deal with pickpockets and charlatans alike. But she  _really_  didn't expect  _this_  to be her first major obstacle.

        Pursing her lips, she tried to find a spot on either side of the group just to find that it spanned from both tent poles, and the other sides of the kiosk were entirely covered by the draped fabric. There was hardly enough space for her to peer around the people standing there, and the most she could see from her desperate attempts was that the man speaking was holding some sort of ornate axe.

        Finally, she accepted that she was left with only one option. The one she'd been avoiding since she saw what she would be dealing with.

        Swallowing the last of her pride, she jumped onto her tiptoes, poking her head up just enough to catch a slight glimpse, before dropping back down. She repeated this in a couple different spots, swaying slightly each time in a last ditch effort to see past the wall of people and find some impossible sweet spot where she could actually get a proper view.

        She thought she found a spot that was the bare minimum of decent – right between the heads of the woman who reeked of apathy and gin, and a man who seemed to be trying to take up the least amount of space as possible. And once on her toes, she caught sight of the vendor's face.

        He was looking directly at her, brows furrowed, speech slowing to a halt as she dropped back down behind the sight line.

_Shit_.

        “Move aside.” A gruff voice said – words laced with some accent Brynhildr couldn't entirely place.

        The group stayed put, muttering in confusion.

        “Oi! Move aside!” He repeated, booming voice effortlessly drowning out their idle chatter like a waterfall would a small brook. “Let the lady through.”

_So much for a subtle introduction._

        The crowd shifted, and Brynhilder slipped through the gap, willing her head a little higher and her gait a little prouder in the process. She went to open her mouth, still unsure whether to thank him or apologize for the interruption, when he spoke.

        “Can't say I recognize you.” He was leaning over a wooden table, covered in various weapons, though his posture did little to downplay his size. This man was imposing, scarred face and missing teeth, with wide set eyes framed with wrinkles resembling the rings on a tree stump telling its age. “What brings you to these parts?”

        “The trading.” Brynhildr replied – pausing for just a second before adding, “and business.”

        “Business, huh? 'Fraid I don't know what you're talkin' about.”

        “I think you do.”

        “An'  _I_  think you don't know who you're talkin' to.”

        “You  _are_  Arnwuld Bone-Seer, correct?”

        He stiffened, sending the crowd behind her an icy look that seemed to signal that it was time for them to leave. Most of them took the hint, slipping off into the background and minding their own business. Solid survival instinct there, Brynhildr figured, before briefly wondering exactly where hers had gone.

        He leaned further forward, table creaking beneath his weight. “How'd you know that?”

        “I've been doing my research. And you know what else I know? That you work for some of the most renowned dragon hunters out there.”

        “What are you playing at, little girl?”

        “Playing at?” She gave an exasperated chuckle to mask the nervous giggle she could already feel tickling the back of her throat. “I'm not  _playing at_ anything. This isn't a threat, or blackmail, or anything of the sort. You misunderstand. I want in.”

        “What makes you think you got what it takes?”

        She shrugged, before stepping forward and pulling out a small leather satchel. Without a moment's hesitation she dumped the contents on the table. A small collection of gold, jewelry, and fine gemstones poured out. “I figure these might be a selling point.”

        He picked up a necklace and began to examine it, calloused fingers running along the intricate design on its face. It was far from perfect, but Johann had said that the best way to deal with Arnwuld would be to bribe him, and these were the best valuables that she and the dragon riders could scrounge up on such short notice. Especially considering that “trying to save everyone and everything you meet” was rarely a lucrative business for the others.

        “Tell you what.” He began, a crooked smile forming on his face. “I'll see what I can do 'bout getting' you introduced. But I ain't promisin' any sort of miracle here, so don't go holdin' me to that.”

        “An introduction is all I'm asking for.”


End file.
